For years they had known each-other, and for years now they continued to fight a war that had been started by idiotic gods, and had taken the lives of many of the inhabitants of the world. Of course, the Seraphim never needed to go into the field of blood and drenched feathers of his fallen friends and companions, as his side was by his God; protecting him was his lifeâs duty. Concerns remaining his purity and his Lordâs safety were the things he lived for and would gladly end for no matter the cost. Yet when that space is breached and blood has been stained unto once stark white hands, what is one to do?Â
Fingers twitch at the sensation of liquid coating and drying, chipping off with every movement and flex of bone and muscle working together. Eyes that once lit up at the sight of the fallen creature now drooped, crimson matching the shade of his irises now staining and marking its way down pallid cheeks and onto the creamy, blood-stained sweater under a brown jacket.
Iron was evident on taste buds, tears showing no signs of build-up.
Had he done this? Was this⌠Really his doing? Of course it couldnât have been! The two of them⌠were friends, were the not? Thatâs whenâŚ
-âPlease, donât do this,â-
Mouths turned in smiles as conversation happened, hands waving as a story was told. He had been too involved; to distracted to notice the simple action and noise of metal being pulled.
-âIâm begging you!â-
His eyes opened to look at the male, mouth forming words that could no longer be remembered. What were they? Sounds of confusion? Noises of worry?
IT was swift, one sweep and he was on the ground, ruby eyes startled by the betrayal of the person he called
Perhaps something more? No, impossible.
Breath hitched, throat becoming dry as cotton as memories flooded back like the river that had begun to cake once stark white hands. Looking down would prove a ghastly sight of stained hair that once was grey like the sky before it stormed. ⌠Or he believed that was what it looked like.Â
Listening quietly one could hear the tapping of boots, the clapping noises of gloves hands hitting against each-other as if encouraging the man to take a bow for the mess he had created. The ties he had severed.
The man smiled at the bloody creature, spouting out nonsense that was now falling onto death ears of an enraged and mourning being.  What was he saying? White noise, thatâs what. White noise didnât matter; this man didnât matter.
He was the reason this happened.
More words spewed from his lips as he droned on and on about the scene and how⌠proud, he was of the angel. Why? Why use someone to kill your own�
âYou know what the best part of this was?â
âThe begging you did.
âPlease, donât hurt him~ Iâll do anything~!ââ
How disgusting it was to hear the tone of the otherâs mocking voice, laughing at what was out of his control.
Tears began to flood as the other continued to laugh and mock him, arms wrapping and engulfing what was once his friend.
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